


Наташа наказывает Локи (Natasha Punishes Loki)

by locusinbloom (Fractual_Visions)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Humiliation, Name-Calling, Teasing, community: naughtylokiconfessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1581584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fractual_Visions/pseuds/locusinbloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: to teach Loki good manners, the Black Widow washes Loki’s mouth out with soap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Наташа наказывает Локи (Natasha Punishes Loki)

**Author's Note:**

> Done for the [Naughty Loki Confessions](http://naughtylokiconfessions.tumblr.com) blog of which I am a devoted follower.

The cell isn’t dark, but the lights have been dimmed for the night. Loki doesn’t need to sleep, not yet, so he runs back and forth over his plans for tomorrow, when Barton is scheduled to arrive.

The whole point of being on SHIELD’s flying fort is to draw the Avengers into a working team. One that will be able to send the Chitauri back to the eternal void in which they belong. His “interrogation” had gone well. They had sent a smart one and he had been able to tell her a lot. How to free Barton. To be prepared for when he drew out the Hulk. He had even thus far managed to unite the Avengers, to some little degree, around their opposition to SHIELDS’ weapons project, another of the secrets Barton had imparted to him. One tiny sigh as a shoe touched the floor told him he was no longer alone. The exact timber of that sigh told him who before he even turned his head.

"Have you returned for another of my secrets? I assure you, there is nothing left to tell."

_By which he meant there was much more she needed to know._

"Actually, I came in case you needed a bath." Natasha held up a bar of soap.

Loki blinked. He spent one very long moment looking for the hidden meaning and could find none.

"I am sufficiently clean. Thank you. Perhaps you intend it for another purpose than my comfort?"

"Well, yes. You’ll find out. A little unfinished business. Don’t worry, Stark has the cameras on a seamless loop. Nobody is watching."

Loki smiled. “How you lie. Even when you think there are no mortal eyes watching, you are always watched. You are never alone.”

_Meaning, we are not alone, there are more than just human cameras surveying the room._

"Even if my superiors were watching, do you think they would care what I do to you? After the way you spoke to me earlier?"

Message received. Do you think we can talk if you continue to verbally lash me?

"I suppose they would not. After all, torture and boundless cruelty are their very life’s blood."

"Well, you would know cruelty when you see it."

"Such is my burden. I will bring you a new and glorious form of life. A future your wretched planet will find irresistible."

_I’m not doing this of my own volition. I am bringing an army whose weapons are far in advance of your own._

"Yeah, Thor’s given us the memo on you. Never could resist a throne?"

Do they want the earth?

"Thor is ever dull and shortsighted. I want the earth crushed under my heel and I have already all I need to obtain that end."

_They want the tesseract. Expect mass extermination._

"An impressive speech for the god who can’t even get out of a glass box. By the way, I’m coming in there with you. I’m pretty sure Director Fury didn’t show you all of this cage’s tricks, so I’ll give you a fair warning: set one finger out of line and Stark is going to light you up like New Year’s Eve. You get the reference?"

Loki gave his surliest frown. “I am vaguely familiar with your holidays. I hope to experience none of them.”

_The attack is coming very, very soon._ Loki wasn’t sure if she read that one—her face gave up so little, even to his talents—but it was the best he could do.

Natasha played with a few buttons on the control panel and the door clicked open. The moment she entered, it slid firmly shut behind her, killing any idea of escape. That was fine. Escape, tempting as it was to show these mortals how pathetically simple their minds were in dreaming to constrain a god, did not fit his plans.

"Now, I would like to say nobody insults me and gets away with it, but that’s not true," Natasha said. "I’ve eaten a thousand insults. They taste very sweet when garnished with the revenge of a job well done."

She approached the bench where Loki continued to lie without moving.

"When I do get the chance to avenge an insult? I take it."

Loki smiled and it was all teeth, behind his pressed shut lips. “Did I hurt your feelings, you simpering mort?”

She flicked her hair off her face. “Not likely.”

"Oh." The corner of his lip curled up. "Please allow me to try harder. What other words for you, then? Shall I call you a whoring wench? A profligate ling? A—"

The bar of soap slipped easily and unexpectedly between his teeth. Natasha jumped several feet back in a defensive posture, ready to fight for her life. Nothing exciting happened. Loki drew his eyebrows together and moved the soap side to side in his mouth as if unsure what to do with it.

On Asgard, a person only washed their mouth if they suffered an illness of its tissues. Surely she did not think he was sick… oh, of course. He grinned. It was a mean-spirited jest, a lesson to cure him of the “disease” of his insults.

Loki spit the soap out. “Cleaning my mouth will not remove the foulness of my mind.”

"It may help. But either way. This is going to be fun for me."

Natasha calmly retrieved the bar. A gentle prod of her thumb on his jaw and he opened his mouth. It slid inside; Loki curled his tongue around it with obvious disgust. She clamped her hand over his lips until certain that he would not attempt to expel it. Once reassured, she entered his mouth with two fingers of one hand, pressing his tongue aside to grasp the soap. Her other hand pincered lightly on his jugular and carotid, a subtle warning not to bite.

He lay quiescent, eyes half-shut, breathing deeply and rhythmically through his nose, allowing her to rub the bar in and out of his mouth. Tiny soap bubbles slicked down his cheeks.

It took only a few moments of this for her to step back and toss her implement of torture aside. In quick, practised motion, she pulled off her leather uniform pants and folded them neatly on the floor.

"I’ve changed my mind. You don’t seem to need a bath. I think I do."

"Do you think you’ll ever be clean, you dirty fucking cunt?"

She leapt with wolf-like grace onto the bed, her feet landing precisely one on either side of Loki’s head. Her knees hit the metal above his head.

"Maybe not. But we’ve got all night for you to work really damn hard at it."

It was all the prompting Loki needed. He grabbed her thighs, yanking her down into his face, licking like she was ice cream and chocolate cake and honeyed mead all in one package. Every stroke was cleaning off the taste of soap and replacing it with the sweetness of her dripping wet pussy.

He was whimpering brokenly, almost sobbing, kneading her skin to urge her down further, encouraging Natasha to fuck herself on his tongue.

"You’re going to call me names? Does it make you feel better? More powerful? Less like a small boy crying for his mother? Your mother must not have loved you much, not to teach you even basic civility." Natasha was hitting all Loki’s hidden trauma with deadly accuracy. "Maybe she didn’t even consider you her son."

Loki could easily have thrown Natasha across the room or broken her neck. He was not stopped by the fear of pain—there was nothing in this cage to protect her and they both knew it. The urge to do so was very strong. It warred with another need. Loki’s desire to relax, even for a fleeting few minutes, as he had not since the Chitauri had taken him. Wrapped around it all, the ever present memory of being thrown from the Bifrost by the force of Odin and Figga’s lies.

The baser need won out; childishness, as Natasha had called it, sentimentality. He keenly felt the shame of the tears flooding down his face. Their Iron Man was watching this. He would pay most dearly for this show.

He raised her a few inches to speak.

"In the end, it is you, Natasha, who will be laving me and once you have you seen the true extent of my cruelty you will beg for death."

It was a weak and empty threat. He could summon no better. She had the grace to look upward and not down at his face with pity or condescension.

Her hands fisted in his hair. “Lick harder. Вы женоподобный мудак!”


End file.
